


Lonely this Christmas

by celestialteapot



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialteapot/pseuds/celestialteapot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why Mycroft was alone at Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely this Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> From this prompt: The scene in ASiB with Mycroft sitting all alone by the fire during Christmas was really sad. Would be wonderful to see an explanation why he was all alone and what was he thinking.
> 
> A friend of mine lost his wife a couple of years ago and wears his wedding ring on his right ring finger in memory, Mycroft is wearing a ring on his right ring finger and something about his line “all lives end. All hearts are broken.” strikes me as very personal.

Anthea hesitated in the doorway, “sir?” he looked up and she almost asked him but settled on a neutral “have a good evening.” He gave her a polite nod as she left, closing the door behind her.

This was his third Christmas alone. 

The first year he'd drunk everything in the house and spent Christmas Day curled up next to the toilet, desperately miserable with a hangover that followed him into New Year. The second, he'd angrily dumped everything into a black bin bag and sat in the dark glaring at the slowly ticking clock on the windowsill until Anthea came round the next morning to help him put it all back in it's proper place. 

This year he didn't want to go home. 

He stared into the slowly crackling fire and tried to think of an excuse to casually drop by 221b. John had sent him a message inviting him for drinks but he'd politely declined, citing pre-existing plans but in reality not wanting to feel like a spare part. 

He absently fingered his wedding ring and thought about the first Christmas he'd spent with Hilarie. They'd met sharing a doorway during a sudden summer downpour in his final year at Cambridge. The man had introduced himself as a second year history undergrad and joked about the unpredictable nature of the British weather system. Normally Mycroft hated small talk but Hiliarie had been charmingly witty and when his fingers brushed against Mycroft's as he leaned forward to light his cigarette, his heart had skipped.  
They'd ended up running through the rain, getting thoroughly soaked before collapsing in a soggy heap of tangled limbs on the floor of Hiliarie's study. The following Christmas, in honour of Mycroft's new position as 'minor member of the British government', he'd given him an umbrella - “can't have the government catching a cold, can we?” he'd said grinning mischievously.

He was brought back from the past by the feel of his phone vibrating in his jacket pocket. He answered, trying not to let Sherlock know how desperate he was for a distraction.

**Author's Note:**

> Hiliaire because I'm studying children's literature and Hilaire Belloc is staring at me from the coffee table.


End file.
